


Reunion

by sunshinestealer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen, X-Men Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mystique meets her abandoned son again after 15 years.</p><p>(Just a little unfinished thing I knocked together after seeing the movie two weeks ago.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

“You're her…”

Mystique had but a moment to swallow the lump that appeared in her throat. She had fought off the goon that this ‘Nightcrawler’ kid had accidentally teleported with them in their escape from the fight club in East Berlin. Kurt crouched beneath the man’s purloined coat as Mystique quickly transformed and barked directions at the men pouring out of the front entrance, all of them eager to reap their losses. Mutant fights had become _very_ big business, after all.

Mutant trafficking, too. She didn’t want to think about it, but seeing this frightened teenager released from a _cage_ and into an arena where he was expected to fight to the death… When the announcer had shouted in overly-theatrical German that this particular mutant came _“straight from the Munich Circus!”_ , Mystique couldn’t imagine that it had been willingly. Maybe the other humans in the circus had been motivated by a large paycheque, or perhaps threatened into letting go of one of their attractions.

She had leaned up on tip-toes to try and see the mutant fight over the baying crowd. The ‘incredible Nightcrawler’ had backed away, hands up and unwilling to fight. The other insisted that they would be killed if they didn’t put on a show, gesturing one wing-tip over to the men bearing Kalashnikovs in high posts around the room.

The circus performer had deigned to put on a show.

Two things had immediately alarmed her — the mutant’s powers, and the fence, which was electrified. _“So sorry, mutants!”_ bellowed the announcer, chuckling in a way that made Mystique want to knock his teeth in.

The kid’s powers… _shit._ It had been so long ago too. She reminded herself that fifteen years wasn’t a hugely long time, but it had certainly been enough to be a complete stranger to this child.

The baby had been left behind on the outskirts of the Black Forest, and it had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Mystique had tried to justify to herself that this way, the child would grow up knowing that people hated and feared mutants, especially those whose mutation was obvious from birth. Maybe a family would find the child, or some lonely person out on a walk… There was a monastery nearby too. She’d never expected the circus, but… it fit, in an odd way.

Regretfully, it had left the child with questionable legality as to his existence. Circus folk tended not to deal in paperwork for their performers, human or otherwise. Easy for men like these to bribe border officials so they could go hunting for mutant combatants in sideshows around Europe, bringing them back to East Germany as unknown, undocumented entities. From there, they were trapped. It made her sick to her stomach.

Ever composed, though, Mystique had marched through the back of the crowd, ducking and weaving through the rabble-rousers until she found the electric panel. Even if she had to fight off some cocky guard who was carnally eyeing her up — right until she smacked an elbow in his stupid face when nobody was looking.

With that obstacle removed, the mutants could all make their escape. The spray of bullets made the younger mutant wince, teleporting out of the cage as soon as he could. 

And then into the alleyway.

His words had sunken in, but Mystique hoped her face didn’t give anything away. She so rarely displayed emotion these days. The statement was ambiguous, questioning. For a brief moment, Mystique wasn’t sure if he was referring to her ‘terrorist’ legacy from ten years ago, or if he actually recognised her as his mother.

“…Yes. I’m Mystique,” she answered, simply. She guided him further down the alley into the shadows, arm around his shoulder.

She didn’t expect what came next.

Enthusiasm lit up his face — bright yellow eyes widened and white fangs glimmered, even in the poor lighting. “I’ve heard much about you!”

His command of English wasn’t too bad, either. She nodded as he babbled about the event that had made her an icon around the globe ten years ago. He would have been five years old, probably learning his first tricks in the circus when it happened. Maybe he had caught the broadcast on a television somewhere. He certainly seemed to know enough of who she was — but not in the way that really mattered.

She stopped him by clearing his throat. “Your name?”

“Nachtschwärmer, or Nightcrawler. My name from the Munich Circus.”

It certainly fitted his appearance. 

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen. I’ll be sixteen in November.”

She couldn’t quite recall, but it was possible that was more around the date he was found, rather than born. “…Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Nightcrawler.”

He placed his hand in hers. Two fingers and a thumb on each hand, she noticed. Odd, but… she was used to oddities. Mutant genetics certainly was a strange and fascinating field. There was no familial resemblance between her and the boy, save for the blue skin (albeit a lighter shade than hers). What she thought were similar scaly patches turned out to be raised scars, intricately carved into the flesh. Not natural features in the least.

“Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

 

East Berlin was a city filled with secrets. People spoke in whispers, fearful of the thin walls between apartments, let alone bugs that could have been placed in their electrical sockets by Stasi agents. Teenagers had their school places and futures potentially jeopardised if the authorities heard of their involvement in rebellious subcultures. Lives could be ruined by mere rumours, and with a police presence on every corner, anybody was fair game.

Nightcrawler’s teleportation came in handy as they weaved through Berlin, to the location Mystique had memorised for years as she helped mutants escape trafficking.

The sewers was probably an obvious location for Caliban to have his business. As they descended the steps, Mystique couldn’t imagine how the psychic girls the creep employed could even bear to be in his service. Not exactly a corner office with a sweeping view of the city. But then again, mutants didn’t get to enjoy that kind of life. 

Caliban was a genius in this field. Functioning as a living, breathing Cerebro, he had spun his ability into a money-making machine. She could just see the gears turning in his head as Nightcrawler went to queue for a photograph. “Caliban will require a _little more commission_ for a mutant such as this,” he’d titter.

Mystique had made sure that she had enough money in advance. The US dollar was strong against the Deutschmark at the moment, after all.

Then she thought of the only place she could turn to with help for this boy. Caliban clearly knew of their familial ties, but didn’t exactly care to share his opinion when Mystique stated: “America. He — _we_ need to go to America.”

“Quite where in America, Caliban wonders…?”

“You _know_ where.”


End file.
